


Swan Song

by DarkSwaan



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 05:25:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1375396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkSwaan/pseuds/DarkSwaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No Curse AU. Night had fallen on the castle of Snow White and Prince Charming, but the edifice was far from dark. Light poured out of windows and doorways, distorted by tempered glass and long shadows. The gardens were dusted with soft lanterns, lovers kissing under stars and hidden between leaves. (Excerpt) Warning dark!Hook and possible triggers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swan Song

 

Night had fallen on the castle of Snow White and Prince Charming, but the edifice was far from dark. Light poured out of windows and doorways, distorted by tempered glass and long shadows. The gardens were dusted with soft lanterns, lovers kissing under stars and hidden between leaves. Music constructed of strings and flutes, drums and pianos, voices so soft, wash through the crowds of dancing nobles, monarchs and aristocrats. It was a celebration of laughter, sung on the winds and carried through the surrounding village to tell it’s people that all was well, it was a time of light and no darkness could touch it.

But darkness always comes in unexpected ways and through the silks and pearls lurked an ageless man. He disguised himself in a fine evening coat of deep navy velvet, depictions of folklore threaded in gold along the fabric. Gloved hands glided smoothly at his sides, shifting past gowns of unimaginable textures and hues, rustling with each step. His hair was dark, jaw brushed with soft stubble, bright eyes fixed ahead upon his target and hidden behind a plain _medici_ mask. A young woman, blonde hair curled softly over her shoulders and pinned up in the back, eyes a swirling, mesmerizing green. Her skin was a pale contrast to the feathered gown she donned, fabric winking in the lights and chiffon fluttering in her wake as she spun and smiled – contagious.

As the musicians in the pit seamlessly blended one melody into another, the ageless man slipped his right hand into her left, guiding her with him as they floated with the other couples upon the marbled floors – his left, a stiff, white-gloved thing, settled at the small of her back, pulling her closer as he leaned in, breath whispering across her cheek.

“Hello Princess. I must say you look stunning tonight.”

The princess herself merely smiled up into his eyes, a teasing glint in her pupils.

“I don’t believe I know you.”

“Ah, but that’s the beauty of a masquerade, darling. We are all strangers to one another, if only for a moment.” His grip on her hand tightened a bit as he drew her ever closer, chests brushing and breath mingling as they made their turns.

“And are you a stranger?”

“Sweet Emma,” He abruptly stopped them and she collided with his chest, gasping in surprise. “Would you like to find out?” And he stepped away from her, coldness filling his absence, hand extended in offer as his lips curled slowly into a smile.

Emma looked at his hand with puzzlement, her eyes flashing between it and him, her head tilted slightly in thought.

“What is your name?”

The ageless man’s smile grew even wider, teeth bright white and glinting like a wolf’s.

“Killian Jones, milady, at your service.” He bowed low, elegant. She would have thought him a royal. She extended her slender hand out to him and smiled.

“Well then, Killian Jones, what say we get acquainted?”

 

The couple laughed as they made their way through the gardens, tumbling under blossomed trees and soft, sweet grass. Lips brushed, hands wandering around waists and backs and Emma had never felt happier than in that moment. She smiled up at her Killian Jones, the mask having been discarded long ago in their runs through the maze. She marveled at his eyes, so bright even in the moon and lantern light. It was the first chance she’d gotten at getting a good long look at him. He was a marvel. His hand slid up along her arms, caressing, and she sighed at the touch. Her eyes fluttered closed and his hands left her, his lips whispering over her skin.

And then something was wrong. She could feel it as a flowered fragrance invaded her senses. These were not the smells of her garden flowers, not the smell of the man by her side. She tried to open her eyes but they fell heavily back, coaxing her to sleep as exhaustion slipped through her veins. Darkness drifted in at the edges of her conscience. A voice far away swam in her ear, low and seductive.

“Sleep well, princess.”

 

Her eyes fluttered open to blackness, nothingness, and Emma frowned. No part of this place felt familiar; the sounds, the smells, they all hung around her heavily in the musky salt licked air. She was aboard a ship. Gingerly, she pushed herself up on her elbows, squinting into the dark. She could make out a chair a ways from her and what looked like a burly body slumped lazily atop it. Sitting up further the princess ventured closer to the stranger.

“H-hello?”

The figure grumbled and snorted, frame shifting as a long deep snore escaped it. A man. Emma crawled closer, her skirts padding her knees against the hard wood floor. She reached out one slim hand through metal bars and poked the man, quickly pulling back in case of danger. Her answer was simply another groan as his feet lightly scuffed the floor.

She sighed and settled back against the wall, drawing her legs up to her chest, arms spun around the shins. It would seem as though she’d been captured.

 

It had been three days so far as she could tell and she’d not spoken to a single soul. Food and drink were delivered while she was asleep and a guard posted at the chair outside her cell. Mostly they just slept there, unconcerned and apparently under orders to ignore her. She would occasionally hear distant voices from up above, feet thumping across what she thought was the lower deck.

With each day she grew more and more sad. With no one to speak to she found her thoughts drifting to her parents, her kingdom. She knew they’d all be worried, her father likely beside himself. He’d have sent out search parties and scouts, put up lost posters and run after every small rumor he came across. Her mother, the dear benevolent Snow White, would have locked herself in her rooms pouring over Emma’s things, crying for her child. It broke her heart to think of them in such a state and she buried her face in her arms, shoulders lightly shaking with her quiet sobs. Eventually the gentle rocking of the ship would lull her back to sleep and she’d dream of family and stories, of merchants telling tales of other lands and towns children running in the royal gardens; but these scenes did not last and soon she was in the dark again, fear gripping her at the thought of her own helplessness.

When she was a child, her father had taught her how to wield a sword, her mother a bow, and the young princess had grown into a fine fighter. She rivaled some of the men in her kingdom’s army, even fought alongside her father when thieves attacked them along the roadside. She knew how to protect herself and yet, here, in this solitude, she felt weak. She didn’t even know what these men wanted from her. That lack of knowledge was what scared her the most. She dealt in facts and logic, in reason. She’d always done so for as long as she could remember, but this was the unknown. She decidedly did not like it.

 

“Cap’n, what are we to do with the princess?”

Killian Jones glanced at his first mate. William Smee was a chubby man, not generally thought of as a pirate. He was a frightened sort of fellow, always looking to please, but what he lacked in ferocity be made up for in information. Smee was the sort who could find anything, anywhere; one need only have the right price. Currently he stood before his captain, wringing his red knit cap between sweaty hands and glancing nervously down at his feet. Killian let his cold stare linger on the man, hand gripping the pegs of the helm.

“We keep her for a rainy day.”

The round man looked up at that and frowned, momentarily forgetting his fear.

“But Cap’n, why take her if you haven’t any plans for her?”

The Captain flashed a feral grin, which spoke of blood and violence, and Smee shivered under his gaze.

“Because, Mr. Smee, I am a pirate. And I live to collect the rare and the beautiful. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“A-aye Cap’n.”

“Now, go see to the crew and make certain all hands are on deck,” Killian’s stormy gaze slid up to the heavy clouds ahead of them. “There’s a storm coming.”

 

Emma woke to the feeling of a single drop of water colliding with the tip of her nose. She straightened, pulling tangled hair from her face and looked up towards the ceiling. It seemed as though someone had taken pity on her and left a lit lantern hung on the wall, and so her eyes could make out the slow dripping from between the planks above her. She could hear thunder, could feel the ship shiver and shake around her, and it gave her an odd sense of calm. Something was happening. Perhaps she’d be freed in the chaos.

The faint sound of shouting came from above her as the ground under her suddenly shook, tossing her to her hands on the grimy floor. And then she heard the singing. It was so soft and serene that, for a moment, Emma wondered if she was simply imagining it. But as the voice grew louder her certainty in it’s actuality strengthened. She pushed herself towards the wall with fingers splayed across the damp planks and listened. The song was soft and sad, spoke of ancient stories of lands long ago lost and Emma found herself singing back, as though she’d known the words her whole life.  

She leaned in to the wall, eyes falling shut as the melody washed over her, seeping in through the pores and lighting something deep within her. Gradually, with the combined voices, the distress in the ship around her began to calm. The tumult faded slowly into the background, easing away, no longer touching her, no longer tainting her. A quiet settled in on the high seas, the only sound her voice singing back to the creatures beneath the waves.

 

Killian looked over the railing of his ship, searching the water for any sign of the monstrous vermin of the deep. He could hear them singing near the hull, could recognize their storm anywhere.

“Smee!”

“Y-yes Cap’n!” The bulbous man stammered back as he rushed towards the helm.

“Go check the hull. Those vixens are near it and I want to know why. Now.”

Smee scurried off to the stairs, slipping a bit on some wet spot of deck as he hastily went to carry out his Captain’s orders. The lower he went on the ship, the louder the singing became and he began to nervously wring his red cap in his hands. Oddly, the voices led him to the brig, where he lightly pushed open the nearly unhinged door and peered in.

The princess was pressed up against the wall of her cell, singing back to the sirens on the other side. Smee stood frozen, torn between running back to his Captain and staying to listen. The melody was soft, sad and he faintly recognized the tragic stories it folded together in its notes, the tales of the old kings and gods, of the hubris and greed that gripped their hearts and tore everything from their grasps. He was aware of Emma slowly turning around, her eyes closed in serenity as she leaned back against the wall, her legs curling underneath her.

And as the song faded Smee felt as if he were coming up from a well-rested sleep. His muscles were relaxed, his mind clear of negativity. He turned and drifted back up the stairs, through the corridors of the lower cabins and onto the deck. The sky had settled back into a soft crystalline blue, small cotton clouds drifted here and there. As he neared his captain again the anxiety and fear snuck their way back up his spine, tingling and warning of a different storm.

“Well? What were they up to Mr. Smee?”

“Th-they was jus’ singin’ Cap’n.”

Killian stared his first mate down hard, gaze boring into his skull as the little man looked away quickly as though searching for something else to say which would placate him. Nothing came though and his lips pressed thinly together with his nervousness. Killian Jones simply looked back out to sea. They had gone again, but he wasn’t so certain that they were done.

 

The days passed slowly, or was it weeks? Emma was losing track of time. Her fingers dug into the dirty fabric of her now ruined dress, her tawny hair matted to her skin in the dampness. She was no longer afraid, no. Only saddened. Sure she would never see her family again, the princess had taken to singing away her sorrows, the soft lilting of her voice carrying through the enchanted wood of the ship like a wave unto itself. The crew had made a habit of listening at her door whenever they could, a few realizing that the only peaceful sleep they could find was on the floor beside it.

The news had spread to Killian after a while. It was difficult to keep secrets from the captain aboard the small ship. He’d noticed that his men would wander off below decks to the brig whenever given leisure, returning in calmer spirits than when they’d left. One night, when all but a few slept soundly in their cots, the captain made his way to his stolen princess.

Careful to walk lightly, he came upon her door, the sound of her velvet voice slipping through the cracks to wrap their way around him, coiling and dancing like smoke. He’d never heard such a sound before in all his life. Hundreds of years and this treasure had proven to be worth more than all the rest. A wicked grin curled his lips, teeth flashing in the lantern light, though none were there to witness it.

_I will have my treasure,_ thought the pirate.

 

She was woken to cold water being thrown upon her. Gasping, Emma fumbled into a sitting position, wiping furiously at the wetness on her face. When she looked up she saw a large gruff man with a tattoo of a kraken up along his arm and across his shoulders. He smiled, yellowed teeth, though somehow she detected no menace in the action.

“M’lady, the Cap’n ‘as requested an audience. Wants t’ hear ye song.”

She pushed herself up along the wall, rubbing her arms to keep the blood flowing. “Then why have you poured water on me?” Irritation nudged at her through the chill and she rubbed harder.

“Name’s Griff, ma’am. ‘m ‘ere t’ get ye all washed up. Can’t ‘ave ye lookin’ like tha’ now can we?” Griff’s friendly smile grew wider, though Emma wasn’t sure she was actually seeing the truth behind it any longer.

“So, what? Am I to strip and wash in this dirty brig? And what am I to clothe myself with, hmm?” Her fear was giving way to the annoyance, her voice rising with each word until she was nearly yelling, nails digging into her skin. The pirate’s grin vanished, a concerned look on his face as he thought over her words. _Slow, this one,_ she thought.

“No m’lady. Yer t’ go to the firs’ mate’s cab’n and wash up there. I don’ rememb’r why I had t’ wet ye, only tha’ I ‘us ordered t’.” He dropped the bucket he’d been holding to the floor and extended a rough calloused hand to her. “Now if y’ll com’ wit’ me.”

She eyed him warily, but there was not trace of dishonesty in his features, so she took his hand in hers and was led away. In the corridors she was made to walk in front of him, his rumbling voice directing her through the winding halls and stairways. They passed only a handful of the crew on their way, all nodding brightly at her as they went. Her brow furrowed at the warm welcomes she received.

_What’s going on?_

Finally Griff told Emma to stop. Before her was a plain wooden door with long gouges in the surface disrupting the caked on dirt and grime. Pushing it open she was surprised to find that the room itself was clean and neat, albeit sparse. A small cot was tucked in the corner between the wall and a short dresser, a handful of books stacked on the top, worn down with broken spines from years of reading. In the middle of the room was a tub filled with soapy water. On the far wall hung a lonely oval-framed drawing of a woman with tangled hair spun into a hopeless braid, face spotted with dirt and eyes that shone through the murky sadness.

“That was my Grandmother, ma’am.”

Emma turned around. Griff had left for other duties and in his place stood a stout man in a red knit cap. He didn’t look much like a pirate, rather more like a poor beggar, but she supposed that deceiving looks were an advantage to any sort of criminal. He gave her a kind smile, almost pitying, and the princess found that it irked her.

“My name is William Smee. First mate. I’m here to give you the dress the Cap’n wishes for you to wear.” He held out a black corseted dress made entirely of lace. Emma eyed it warily and raised an eyebrow at him in indignation.

“Really? That hardly seems appropriate for anywhere outside a harem.”

“The Cap’n said it was either this or he’d have you nude.” Smee gave her an apologetic shrug and laid the dress on the end of the cot. “It’s your choice, highness.” He shut the door firmly on his way out.

She sighed, staring at the flimsy fabric. She supposed she had no choice in the matter, not really. He couldn’t expect her to forgo the revealing gown in favor of her nudity whilst confronting him. The princess stripped down, ragged dress pooling around her feet on the hard floor. She’d gotten rid of the petticoats and corset long ago, bunched them together to create a makeshift pillow. The heels she’d been taken in had vanished when she’d first awoke. The princess could only assume they’d sold them off. Her gaze lingered on the torn and darkened feathers, the brilliant greens, blues and golds faded to a sad brown in her weeks of confinement.

Stepping into the tub toe first Emma suppressed the shiver of delight that attempted to shudder up her spine. The water was a pleasantly warm temperature and she sunk in, knees folding up to her chest and above the surface as she dipped her head under, reveling in the feel of it against her. She hadn’t had a bath in ages, let alone a warm one. All she’d had in her time on the ship was the muggy salt air, the meager food she was given daily and a few cups of lukewarm water to drink. She’d felt like an animal on display.

Closing her eyes, Emma sunk deeper beneath the warmth, allowing it to envelope her throat like a scarf in the winter. Her thoughts drifted to the concept of a ransom. Did pirates normally keep their prisoners this long for gold? Perhaps this Captain Jones believed the longer she was missing, the more her family would offer in exchange for her safe return. But why was it taking so long? Surely there would come a point wherein they would believe her dead.

Her fingertips skimmed over the soap bubbles, popping each in succession as she mused over Killian Jones’ methods. She leaned her head back, soaking her tresses and running her hands through them so pull out the grease and sweat. When she finished, she got up and out, trailing water on the floor in her wake as she picked up the extra blanket at the end of the bed and dried herself thoroughly. She held up the lace dress, noticing for the first time the low cut bodice, the sleeves off the shoulder. Grimacing, she proceeded to clothe herself, pulling the strings of the corset as tight as she could without any help. Once satisfied it would not fall off and reveal her in all her nudity, Emma finger combed her hair loosely. It was already drying at a quick rate, only slightly damp across her shoulders and back.

She walked to the door, feet bare as before and knocked lightly. It swung open to reveal the pudgy little Mr. Smee. He bowed slightly and gestured for her to exit the room and enter the cabin next to it. This door was perfectly clean, all polished wood and varnish. She pushed a bit and slipped in through the crack that formed, quickly turning around to face the room.

It was certainly nothing like Mr. Smee’s. This was the room of a collector, one with a fascination for the beautiful and rare. Shelves lined two of the walls stuffed with old leather bound books. Here and there was a treasure or two; a jade elephant, an ornate lamp, some gorgeously woven rug on the floor. At the third wall she saw the bed, though it was not the size that caught her attention, rather the man sitting at the edge. He wore a billowing black shirt, opened laces at his chest revealing the soft dark hair. A red leather vest hugged his torso, decorated with blacks and golds in complex designs. She’d never seen any like them, could not recognize them as being from her land or any other. The man himself had a sharp, angular face, long aquiline nose, bright blue eyes, a spattering of dark stubble and soft looking lips. She couldn’t seem to remember how he’d looked the last time she’d met him – or rather the first – but she was certain she’d have noticed the dangerous tilt of his grin, the hardness in his gaze as he appraised her.

Leaning back, Killian Jones let out a low breathe and smirked.

“My, my, Princess. I must say, you _do_ look stunning. I believe this gown suits your figure better than the other.”

“You gave me no choice. My dress was ruined from weeks spent in your brig.” Her chin rose up, shoulders squaring. Her eyes had a defiant edge to them and Killian felt the excitement bubble up at the prospect of a battle of wills.

“You know, most men would take your attitude as off-putting, but I do love a challenge.” His smirk grew wider and he came to his feet, moving to slowly circle her. His hook crossed beneath his elbow, his right hand at his chin, stroking the hair there in contemplation of the creature before him. Emma refused to look away, refused to give him any more of an advantage than he already possessed. As he finished his round he came to a stop before her, gesturing at her with his hook and crossing his arms. “Well then. On with it, love.” He leaned closer; breath fanning over her face as he added, “Sing, dear princess.”

She glared at him, green eyes turning a stormy color but she stood higher and began to sing. Killian closed his eyes, savoring the soft sound as it washed out of her in waves and winds. He loved her voice, the husky sweetness it carried, and the sorrow it spoke of. It was of those few things he’d encountered in life that brought on a feeling of connectedness to him. She sang of a sailor, lost at sea as his maiden waited at the shore, going up to the signal light on the edge of the cliff every day to search for his sails among the incoming ships. She went day after day, hardly slept for her pain. Finally, as the song came to a close, the maiden heard word of her husband. He’d died in a storm on some far off shore, alone and desperate to get back to her. The next night she’d gone to the search light upon the cliff’s edge again and wept, singing out to her husband over the waves. Finally, in a last attempt to rejoin him, she flung herself into the rocky waters below.

Emma’s body had relaxed as she sang, muscles settling comfortably as she finished. She watched the captain as his eyes slowly opened again and met hers. She felt pinned to the spot, unable to breathe at the look of awe in his gaze. Unfortunately that predatory glint followed soon, setting off the bells in her head that told her to run. She tensed again, hairs rising in anticipation of his next move, but there was none. He simply watched her with that mixture of hunger and amazement, arms still folded across his chest as he leaned to the side. Tilting his head slightly in question he took a step forward, invading her personal space.

“Lovely,” he murmured, hand coming up to brush some golden hair over her shoulder. She wanted to shudder, to recoil in disgust, but she found a terrifying emotion taking root in her core instead. It was threatening to spread and consume her, a burning heat that both excited and scared. Killian leaned closer, hand now caressing over her bare shoulder and fingers brushing the nape of her neck. An involuntary shiver ran up her spine as his lips neared hers, hardly touching. A shuddering breath and she pushed him away, hands shoving against his chest as she stepped back.

“Ah ah ah. You should not have done that, darling.”

She looked up in time to see the anger flash in his oceanic eyes and then she was rammed against the wall not far behind her, his lips seizing hers in a brutal kiss. Her head swam and her own anger spiked. She fought to be freed, but he caught one wrist against the wall, the other subdued by his hook. Teeth nipped and pulled, tongue sliding upon the crease of her mouth seeking entrance. She did not comply, kicked harder at his legs when, quite suddenly, he was gone and she was freed. She looked at him as the dark smirk took its place again.

“I do not like to force my women, so you shall return to the brig now. Keep in mind though, sweetheart, I will have you begging eventually.” And with that the door opened next to her and she hurried out.

She was led back by Griff in a haze. She was shut again in her familiar cell, given the same food and water, but she hardly ate. She sat down in the corner, useless petticoats a reasonably soft substitute for blankets, and fell asleep.

 

The next few weeks were spent the same as before, alone and quiet as she sang in her prison. Time seemed to blur together as she spiraled into a deep depression. She missed her family, missed her kingdom, and hoped fervently for some sign that this imprisonment would end; yet none came. Night after night, she was sent back to the Captain’s Quarters and asked to sing. Killian began to fall in love with his songbird, admired her graceful movements and defiance, even in the face of such hopeless circumstance. He enjoyed having her to himself, found amusement in her rejection of him when they both knew he owned her. She could no leave, could not fly away and he was possessive, protecting his treasure with all he had.

It went on and on and then, one faithful night, Griff was called away as he was locking her back in. She’d tested the door, found it to swing open at her touch and hastily shut it again. When Griff returned, he looked confusedly at the keys in his hand and the lock to the cell, asked her if he’d closed it and she’d answered yes. He shrugged and went off to continue his work.

She waited for hours, listened for footfalls above her and, when she felt most had gone to sleep, she crept out of the brig and made her way topside.

The wind rushed past her sending her hair back in waves. The air was fresh and she breathed deeply, arms outstretched in the cool night. The stars shimmered and winked, an ocean of their own and she ran to the rowboats. Untying the knots that held them in place, she was startled when a deep voice spoke behind her.

“Now lass, there’s no where you can go with that.”

Spinning on her heel, Emma looked straight at Killian Jones, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes filled with a cruel amusement.

“I’m leaving.”

“No. You’re not.” He stayed where he was, leaning against the railing opposite her and shrugged. “There’s nowhere left for you, love. You’ve been gone far too long.”

Emma’s eyes narrowed, her fists clenching the ropes harder as they bit into her flesh. “What do you mean? I’ve been on this ship for nearly a year. No more.”

He grinned, a dark and beautiful thing that sent her heart pounding in fear. “Ah, but a year in Neverland is more than a hundred in your kingdom.” He shoved off the railing, arms rising to represent the futility of her actions. “Everyone you know is dead by now, princess. There’s no one to go back to. This is your only home now.”

She heard the disbelief roaring in her hears, but he spoke the truth. She could feel it in her very being. She knew him well enough by now, understood his pain and cruelty, his rage. He would not lie to her, had never lied to her since they’d met at the ball. She felt the pinpricks of panic start to rise, felt her heart race faster at the reality of her loss. Killian watched her as she glided towards the bowsprit, looking out over the water as it reflected the celestial light from above. He made no move to stop her. It was the only kindness he had left to give.

Her voice rose over the lapping waves, echoed out over the sea as she climbed atop the railing, balancing with her arms stretched wide. This song, this tragic song, told the story of a princess, kidnapped from her home. It spoke of her love for a pirate, of her sorrow and her plight. The melody rang out, penetrated the depths of the ocean as she fell forward. Feet slipped off slick wood, lace flowing out behind her like wings. It was soundless.

Killian slowly went to the spot from which she fell and looked down. Nothing, not even a ripple, could be seen, just the echo of a song, so tragic and sad, resounding in his mind. And it began to chorus up as he caught sight of the sirens slithering beneath the surface, their long elegant bodies moving powerfully as they sang the princess’ song. It was a reminder, they said, to her pirate love. It was the voice of the caged treasure.

The swan song.

 


End file.
